


Steps

by WhiteSheep



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, Bedroom Sex, Come Swallowing, Come as Lube, Confused Desire, Couch Sex, Counter Sex, Creampie, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Eiffel Tower, Face-Fucking, Father/Son Incest, First Time, Hand Jobs, Kitchen Sex, Large Cock, Light Bondage, Loss of Virginity, Lube, M/M, Molestation, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Prostate Massage, Pseudo-Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Self-Denial, Shame, Sloppy Seconds, Slow Sex, Step-parents, Threesome - M/M/M, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Underage Rape/Non-con, i do not speficy ages so the last tag is up to you, i do use the word 'boy' however so be aware if it's not your thing, someone get tied up and that's it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27732835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteSheep/pseuds/WhiteSheep
Summary: Isaiah holds his breath, hearing underneath the sound of the open faucet the car starting outside, leaving – knowing it won’t come back until tomorrow morning.There’s a beat of silence throughout the house.Then footsteps start approaching his direction.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 33
Kudos: 649





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaim: This is a work of fiction meant only to entertain. The author does not condone any form of break of consent/rape/molestation, nor any thoughts expressed here reflect the author´s opinions/beliefs.
> 
> Disclaim 2: PLEASE do not use this or any of my other stories as an example of what real and healthy sex is/should be (let's keep in mind that condoms are not just to prevent pregnancy. And if you're planning to stick something somewhere or let someone stick something in you, LUBE is your absolutely BEST FRIEND. Dry sex is only fun in theory!) and even LESS of what a healthy, nontoxic relationship is/should be.

Isaiah listens to the conversation from the living room as he washes the dishes, his stomach knotted with tension. His mother bids goodbye and the click of the front door closing tightens the pressure and he holds his breath, catching underneath the rush of the open faucet her car starting outside. Leaving – knowing she won’t come back until tomorrow morning.

There’s a beat of silence throughout the house.

Then footsteps start approaching his direction.

Isaiah stands there holding the sponge against a plate and under the water, frozen still by the chilly grip of anticipation—the only exception being his rabbit-fast heart, that hitches a heartbeat into the hollow of his throat when the calm pace passes from wood to tiles, entering the kitchen.

His mouth goes dry when someone stops behind him, hands touching his waist and sliding under the worn-out apron. No—not someone, _never_ someone. The plate slips from his suddenly weak fingers, hitting the sink with a wet thud as his temple is nuzzled, wider shoulders draping over his with a muscular chest and a flat stomach pressing against his back, emanating heat. Hands with long, elegant fingers slip inside his shirt, one rubbing upward and the other down. Isaiah’s heart trembles as the air leave him at once.

"A...ah."

Humming softly over him, he—this man leans over to catch the tip of one of Isaiah’s ear in his mouth, just giving the barest nibble, and the boy gasps then shudder as Benjamin’s hand curve to roll a nipple between his fingers. His right-hand closes around the sponge, gushing water and soap everywhere and coating his fingers with even more suds, while the other clutches at the edge of the sink.

Terrible familiar fingers caress the delicate skin down his belly and Isaiah drag in a sharp breath as Benjamin cups his most intimate place in a broad palm. The other hand slowly tweaks with his nipple, rolling it loosely this way and that – and he lets the air roll from him in a whimper. He can feel his cheeks taking on a slow wash of color and he stares at the sink with half-lidded eyes, bottom lip caught between teeth as the man slowly gropes him, long fingers delving between his thighs to brush his balls. He shivers, hips twitching at the touch -– well-aware he’s half-hard already when it has not been even a minute, his body just too attuned to… this. To Benjamin’s touch.

His stepfather.

His _dad_ since he married his mother two years ago.

The man who took his virginity just a month after he came back from a honeymoon with his new wife.

The man who has been _fucking_ Isaiah on every possible opportunity since then, under this very roof, this house he bought with his mother. That they furnished together. Every moment they are left alone long enough, that his mother leaves for some reason and will not be back for hours... Sometimes at night even when she is at home. Just a door away from their bedroom and the man will fuck Isaiah on the boy's own bed under the blankets, with only the pillow or a hand to muffle his voice and the walls to contain the creak of the mattress, the wet slurp of his lubed cock defiling his own stepson. And Isaiah helpless to do anything but choke on his own moans and clutch at the sheets, quivering under those hands that feel so big against his body, ass split open by this man thrice his age – only for the next day to act as if nothing had happened.

Just a dad and a son with a loving mother and wife.

The picture of the quintessential traditional family.

The depravity hangs so heavy, a blend of fear and arousal Isaiah can’t resist, even with the all-consuming _shame_ weighing down every breath he takes while holding onto this secret. Choking him, _drowning_ him with unbearable guilt every time he meets his mother’s eyes, demanding—begging him to tell her the truth. How his difficulty in sleeping isn’t because of undiagnosed insomnia; that isn’t tiredness or a bad back or soreness from practice that will sometimes make him stumble with weak knees and uncertain feet. That he doesn’t date, _not_ because he’s too shy, but because her husband has been _fucking_ him since they got married and he doesn’t think he can handle lying to another person. Not when he’s perpetually _aching_ , raw and sensitive and bruised, skin a painting of handprints and love-bites where no one can see.

He thinks about confiding. About asking for help to put an end to this madness he can’t do anything against on his own. He thinks and says to himself he will do it, swears this time… _this_ time he will say something.

Then his mother leaves the house... and his stepfather doesn’t wait for a bedroom with a locked door to take off his clothes, to hold Isaiah down with a grip he can’t dream of escaping while pushing his raw cock inside him – uncaring of Isaiah’s half-hearted protests, uncaring of how wrong it is, how vile, and hungrily consummate this immoral relationship with his own son again and again and _again_. Filling Isaiah with disgraceful pleasure, turning him into a helpless, sobbing mess until all his bargains and pleas dry out into incoherent moans of a boy in use, shivering at how sinfully _good_ it feels to be taken, to be touched, to be _fucked_.

Only for him to wake the next day sore and cum-stained, and not say anything.

And the next.

And the next.

And the next, keeping his mother and the world ignorant to their perversions with a vicious circle of desire and self-denial.

He breaths out when the hand groping him moves away, reaching for the cabinet above the sink, and rummages through its content, only to lower a green glass bottle a moment later – the words ‘extra virgin oil’ written on the front. The heat on Isaiah’s face worsens, working into a proper, rosy glow, as his stepdad opens the bottle right in front of him, tipping its golden content on his palm. Then he puts the oil down, and slicked fingertips brush over the soft skin of his navel only to slowly slip into the waistband of his shorts. His legs tremble and he lets out a little whine as he watches the soft fabric shift and stretches as Benjamin’s hand curls around him, fingers pressing deliberately against sensitive flesh. A warm tongue teases across his ear and he gives a shiver and a small gasp that melts into tiny moans as the man leisurely rubs along the length, spreading the cold oil and bringing him into full hardness with just a few easy pumps, thumb sliding up his crown to press circles on the exposed flesh of his head.

Panting and huffing softly, Isaiah can feel himself start to throb.

“D—Dad,” he whispers, voice tight, gripping the edge of the sink with both hands now. “T-the curtains are open.”

The man’s jeans are taut and stiff, denim bulged out with the weight of a rigid cock and pressing against the boy’s ass and lower back. Isaiah can feel it pulsate at his words and his knees find each side of the boy’s thighs. “I know,” Benjamin’s voice is a rumble right at his ear, warm breath tingling the skin damped by his tongue. Isaiah gives a breathy whimper when the man slowly grasps his hips, a muffled wet _shlick… shlick… shlick_ coming from his shorts and apron that deform with the hand moving underneath them, loud even with the sound of the open tap.

“We—we can’t. Here. S-someone might see us—”

The boy’s stammered pleas are interrupted by his own gasp, a quiet inhalation, when his shorts and underwear are pulled down until the elastic band snags just under the under cleavage of his ass, exposing him to the cold air and broad daylight. Exposing his shameful erection, and the glistening fingers wrapped around it, touching him right in the middle of the kitchen where minutes ago Benjamin had exchanged a brief kiss with his mother, where their family had cooked breakfast together. He is turned then pushed against the counter, whimpering as the grip on him shifts, feeling up the wedge of his head and rubbing intently the sensitive slit, teasing out the first beads of pre.

The man smiles. Hazel-nut hair collected in a top knot, his pupils are wide and dark, eating up the dark green irises. "You would like that, wouldn’t you?" A rough yet graceful hand slowly feels down his length, thumb stroking along the back of his crown before pushing all the way to the throbbing base, squeezing—and Isaiah can feel the callouses born from years holding brushes, pencils, chisels, and hammers, of molding clay and carving wood. Working hands. A stay-home husband and an artist with his own studio in his house. "Being caught with your pants down and your dad’s hand around your cock… ah, a little pervert like you would love that.”

With a white-knuckled grip on it, leaning back heavily into the counter, Isaiah shakes his head desperately, eyes squeezed shut. “No, n-no. T-that… is not true."

His laugh is a huff of air, quiet not out of secrecy but intimacy. “No, of course not... You're just an innocent little boy, being taken advantage of at your most vulnerable... poor, little Isa...”

Shuddering hard, Isaiah tries to fight himself. Tries to fight the rush of heat spurred on by the burn of humiliation, the trembling need rising in every inch of his body as his stepdad continues to touch him, hyper-aware of the open windows on the kitchen, of the clear morning light all around them. "Ng—” He pushes a trembling hand against the solid chest in front of him. “Please—p-please. This is w-wrong." Why- why is he so intent on risking, when he’s usually so careful? A-anyone could walk past their house at any time! Just… just a glance and they would be spotted. Everything would be brought to light! And… and… His eyes search the ceiling as his mouth hangs open, panting. He can’t _think_ , his thoughts swirling, dazed with arousal and pleasure.

"Filthy.” Benjamin’s agreement is purr-stained, his free hand brushing Isaiah’s fringe away only to tuck itself under his chin, forcing his face up to meet his dark gaze – while he shakes under those stroking fingers, sliding up and down his length and the boy’s back is arching despite everything, his hips helplessly jerking up into that tight grip. “Obscene, really. You ought to tell everyone what perverse man your dad is, how he dared to lay his hands on you.” Squeezing tight around the length as his hand pushes down to nestle into the base, then takes the journey back up stroking a fat wad of precum up that blooms over Isaiah’s head, thumb moving to rub over it, making a mess as he smears pre and oil together. And the slide of his hand becomes obscenely loud, a _shlick_ of slicked skin on slicked skin as the boy moans and quivers, face burning with shame and arousal. “You should demand to have me thrown in prison… Pray that someone passes that window and sees the terrible things I’m doing to you.” The older man moves, and Isaiah gasps as his breath spread an aching little whisper of a chill across his throbbing cockhead.

"Who knows… if I ever going to stop otherwise?”

A tongue touches him, and his entire body jolts upward, a moan bursting from his throat that rebounds on the tile and floor. His eyes flutter open to find Benjamin kneeled on the floor before him holding the apron to the side, just in time to see his tongue darting up again, swiping through that mess to tease the fold under his head, and Isaiah shudders heavily, clinging desperately to the counter as he chokes on another throaty moan. “ _Dad_ —” A firm hand holds his hips in place, keeping him helpless under the sweet gloss of a tongue washing over his slit, of lips forming a wet seal around head and suckling, slurping as the older man pushes down to take more of him in one slow descent. Isaiah gasps, toes curled tight inside the sneakers with his head craned back, glassy watery eyes fixed on the ceiling… until a tongue draws into a slow, wide swirl around his crown and they slip shut, a high whimper rasping from his lips.

“Please s-stop,” he pleads again, knees wobbly and shaky at each side of his dad. His voice falters, weak. It doesn’t sound convincing.

He always begs for it to stop, and it always sounds like this.

One of Benjamin’s hands slides down to find his sack, cupping it to roll its contents almost— almost _tenderly_ , as he presses into slow, firm bobs, eating the boy up and releasing him again with soft slurps that sets him panting and moaning. The man’s movements are smooth with practice, this being far from the first time he took his son’s cock in his mouth and molested him in such a way. The pale gray of the apron heaves up and down with his chest, in and out of a morning sunbeam coming from a nearby window, as suds drips from his fingers clutching the counter and his nails dig into the underside of the wooden edge. Where, if you’re to look, it would be thousands of faint scratches.

This is not the first time they do this in the kitchen either.

Pleasuring his very tip with rolling, slick pushes of lips, tongue, and just a hint of teeth, the older man plays along with all his tender spots the way he knows the boy is weak against – all Isaiah’s weak spots learned and memorized a long time ago. He struggles more and more to hold onto the urgency pressing on his mind, the thought of danger slipping between his fingers with each swipe of that warm, experienced tongue around him. He can hear the water flowing behind him, the sounds of the street outside—but can’t focus on piecing why he wants— _needs_ to stop this. Needs to. Because. They can’t _—_ c-can’t… “ _A-ah_ —" His back bows as he throbs against his stepdad’s tongue, the man snugging him against the back of his throat for just a heartbeat. And then Isaiah has to press his mouth against his shoulder to muffle his cry as a tight, warm grip slowly inches all around his cockhead, enveloping the full length of his cock in almost an instant as slightly stubbled mouth presses firmly to his crotch. Air leaves the boy in high, shuddering gasps, his entire body starting to shake when he collapses in senseless moans, his knees jerking and waning around Benjamin.

For a moment, his balls seize painfully, and he starts to panic, though he can’t quite understand or remember why. "D-Dad, dad...!" He manages a strained, desperate moan through his constricted throat but Benjamin gives no notice to his attempt at a warning—he steadies Isaiah’s jolting hips with one hand as the other cups his churning balls still nestled inside his boxers. A tight noise that might have been a cry slips from the boy, and he has to steel his entire body, crushing a shamefully sudden, premature orgasm before it can start, desperately holding back from even thinking about that silky vice of flesh, the muscled walls taking slow, tender swallows around him. He grits his teeth, eyes shut tight as his stomach stiffens and his thighs tense, denial clogging his throat at the reality of what’s happening. Of how easily his father can yank him to his limit.

A few ragged heartbeats before the urge to spill in Benjamin’s throat passes. He pants, almost dizzy with the effort, and misses the slicked hand pushing past his tightening sack. All his attention flies to the feeling of his dad drawing back, tongue caressing over every inch before it slips free from his lips, baring his aching need to the slight chill of the air. The older man sighs, taking a careful breath through the nose, fingers curling around his very base to steady him before descending once more, consuming his cockhead and burying his arousal in lavish, slick laps and suckles—and it’s when a slicked touch pushes through his cheeks to find his tender little hole. The boy chokes, eyes snapping open. “W-wait—” He gasps, breathless. But it’s useless: half a beat later the man is pushing, three knuckles sinking slowly inside.

Isaiah whimpers in protest as he clamps down in instinct, a breathy, trembling sound that breaks into tiny, gasped moans as Benjamin massages at his walls with his usual expert care, while continuing to suck his erection with wet slurps. Tremors running all along his legs threatening to fold at any second, his mouth hangs open as he scrambles at the counter, numb fingers and soft arms refusing to take his weight properly. He can feel his dad brushing his walls, moving easily inside an ass at this point used in taking much bigger things, and after so long being subjected to this man's thorough exploration, Isaiah knows what is coming. His whole being quakes in burning anticipation, his labored breath loud in the kitchen – so it’s audible when it hitches, splits into a shuddering gasp when that fingertip slides over the tender spot buried inside him. The sensation ripples out through him, his entire body creaking on the verge of falling apart while the man’s lips seal languidly around the back of his crown and his tongue coils around him, sole finger rubbing insistently that cursed little place he never knew existed before Benjamin.

Like a promise of what’s about to come. His stepdad’s debauched hunger foreseeable after two years lay open to its consequences.

Isaiah tries hard, desperately, has held his body until this point through sheer force of will and desperation, but in the end, his control slips from his fingers, and the heated pressure in his belly tears open. A single, silent cry rasps from the boy as his entire body snaps rigid, vision fluttering in white as his back cranes in a sensual arc— and he floods his father’s mouth with seed, thick, surging sprays that the man swallows eagerly with quite audible gulps, his balls pumping with almost painful enthusiasm against his dad’s wrist. His lips tremble parted as if to speak, throat working as he is taken by shivers while his hips weakly bucks up, insides squeezing close around that shifting finger still massaging circles over that fountain of unsought pleasure.

A single wheeze for air seconds later and Isaiah slumps onto the counter, elbows hitting wood when tension bleeds out of him almost suddenly, and Isaiah pants shallow and fast, blinking through the blurry fog in his vision with his legs almost giving up. Benjamin gives one more firm grind before dragging his finger from his ass, taking a moment to lick up Isaiah’s slow-twitching head, impervious to the boy protesting whimpers. Rubbing over the goosebumps of his thigh, Benjamin finally releases him from the cruelly sweet grasp of his lips and leans away.

Isaiah just stays still, chest heaving with quick pants. He hears the older man moving, but cannot make himself look – for the core of what just happened washes hot shame over his skin. How it was not the warm embrace of Benjamin’s throat, nor the manipulation of that hidden sweet spot inside him of which had been taken advantage of many times, that broke his control. He had, for one moment, being filled with the mental picture of this person, the man his mother married and now legally his father, fucking his ass raw right here, right now, the way he has done hundreds of times before. He envisioned the feeling of his ass stretching around him, his cock pounding inside his belly, and the very thought drove him helplessly over the edge.

The pang of humiliation ripples through him, yet, it does nothing to diminish the orgasmic stupor taking hold of him. A disgraceful, trembling, debased ecstasy he can’t do anything to control. So it is that, when the man stands up with a chuckle, Isaiah cannot do anything but let himself be turned once again in limp subservience, just fumbling to brace himself on the damp, cold marble. His once slowing pants quickens again while an arm snakes around his middle not a second later. "How terrible..." Benjamin purrs into his ear, and his strong chest swells against his back with each word. "You just creamed your dear dad’s throat quite thoroughly, hmm... How could you do such a depraved thing? Aren’t you just a virgin, innocent boy?"

Benjamin’s other hand moves between them. Among the rush of the faucet and a lawn-mower in the distance, the metallic sound of a zipper being open is crystal clear. Isaiah looks down at his quivering hands splayed on the counter, face burning. "No," the whisper comes out against his will. "I—I’m not—I…" A rustle of clothing interrupts him. The oil bottle is moved, tipped.

And then he hears the lewd, slick sounds of Benjamin lubing up his cock.

His heart hastens and he cannot continue.

There is a chuckle behind his ear. “That’s right. You’re not.” The hand on his waist slides back, spreading open over his spine before pushing him against the counter, finding no resistance to do so when the boy’s arms fold like paper. Cold, damp stone against his chest and soaking up the front of his shirt and apron and wood digging into his stomach, Isaiah curls his hands at each side of his face and lays there, trembling in motionless submission despite knowing what’s to come. The man shifts his hips and a soft pant pushes from Isaiah’s throat when stiff, sleeked flesh slides between his cheeks and grinds in slowly, teeth of an open zipper grazing his skin.

“A-ah…”

"You haven’t been one in a long time, have you?" He shivers with a vacillating whine when Benjamin mumbles above him, leisurely rolling his hips to rub up and down against his ass, smearing a trail of slickness. Braced on the palm right in the middle of his shoulder blades, the other hand taking deliberate gropes of a plump cheek from tennis practice. “Not since I sneaked into your bedroom all those months ago... Do you remember, boy? When I sucked you off and you came in my mouth, just like you did now?” An unexpected groan spills from his lips. Oh, he remembers. There’s not a day Isaiah does not remember, doesn’t think about waking up to startling pleasure coursing through his body from head to toes, fingers already grasping his sheets and moans dribbling from him with his cock caught in hot and wet pressure he never had felt before; to the sluggish, confused realization there was _someone_ between his legs under the blanket. That this pressure was a _mouth_. That someone was _sucking him_ , coarse tongue brushing against his sensitive skin and moving lips— “When I pushed inside your tight little ass and you moaned like a little slut while I fucked you?”—Isaiah tries to banish the memories, but he can’t, he _can’t_. The low rumble of Benjamin’s voice hauls the thoughts, the images back into his mind, aggravated by that lightly curved cock dragging across the delicate skin of the inside of his cheeks and the subtle textures he can discern with startling clarity: the graceful taper of thickness toward the middle, the smooth shape of the head, the gentle network of veins pumping hot blood through this hungering thing—“when I came inside you, again and again and _again_ …”—he remembers _all of this_ pushing him open for the first time, filling his virgin ass with throbbing, hot flesh with a thin sheen of slick to smooth the way.

Remembers biting the pillow to soften his cries and whimpers, his hair mussed about his face, his body rocking in time with the hips pounding between his legs. The muffled creaking of the bed. The squelch of the cock violating him, his underwear pushed out of the way just enough. Recalls the exact moment he comprehended that the person on top of him in the dark was _Benjamin_ – the man his mother married a month ago. His legal father. And he was stealing his virginity, was _raping_ him on his own bed with only groans of delight and powerful hands pinning him against those shuddering thrusts to show for a heavy conscious at his actions. Isaiah moans at the memory of the very first time he felt his stepdad cumming inside, thick jets hitting deep within him until his ass was overflowing and fat drops were trailing down his ass.

Heavy arousal boils up again from its merciful decline barely a moment ago, so hard and intense it makes his head spin. What is _wrong_ with him? He _knows_ that this is wrong. Not just indecent but _vile_. The most terrible thing a person can do to someone under their care. An outright _crime_. Benjamin is a rotten, horrible man taking advantage of him, molesting him in his own house. And yet… Isaiah won’t scream for help.

He knows he won’t because on that first night – despite the fact his stepdad never tried to silence him, despite knowing his mother was just a room away – he _didn’t_. Nor he did in any of the following days, weeks, months, even with plenty of opportunities to do so. Because he knows he puts up a fight just for show, knowing full well he will be subdued. He protests just for the sake of his own conscious later, when he’s not drowning in sinful pleasure and the guilty can crawl back in. So that he can tell himself that Benjamin forced him, that was just his body reacting and it didn’t mean anything that he came while being pounded good and hard by his dad.

So that he can tell himself he does not want this.

When Benjamin settles a hand on his waist—when he _pushes_ to claim that snug little hole buried between Isaiah’s cheeks, the man slips in almost easily, voice swelling into a low, sultry sigh at the same time that smooth crown glides past Isaiah’s ring. The boy’s hooded eyes snap open, and he only seizes close around it as the older man grinds deeper with a delighted groan, the rest of his body pliant and obedient on top of the kitchen counter. “Dirty boy,” Benjamin purrs, the warm air of its passing ruffling his hair. He is so—so open, straining so much it stings, yet the hot press against his insides seems to smother anything but raw, nerve-fraying pleasure. His eyes water, mouth falling open without a sound as that smooth, pulsing cockhead slips deeper and deeper with slow, rolling pushes, a pillar of heat entering him and prying apart his flesh with an unhurried yet unrelenting pace. It—it feels s-so _good_ — “Look at you, taking my cock so easily now. Your ass got loose from getting fucked so much by your daddy, huh?”

Isaiah whimpers faintly, something crumpling inside him as the thought settles, grows beyond the clasps of his self-denial. With every smooth, greedy thrust, ripples of warmth flow up his body, building upon each other, cascading in his mind. _Pleasure_. Pure, undeniable _pleasure_ , weakening his desperate hold on the unwilling boy act with every inch that fills him. “D-dad,” Isaiah whines pitifully, hands closing at each side of his head over the marble. He swallows, chest swelling with a shaky inhalation as Benjamin drags his hips back… then he pushes forward again, grinding hungrily to work a little more of that twitching rod inside Isaiah—and the moan escapes the boy’s throat unbeknownst to himself. “Dad—dy.”

The word tastes vulgar and familiar on his tongue, for this is not the first time he utters it.

Benjamin’s laugh is made of gravels rattling inside his throat, a low, rasping sound. "That’s right. Daddy is going to fuck you,” he mumbles, once again pulling back, setting the boy shuddering at the wondrous feeling of that lubed shaft slipping away despite his instinctive attempts to clamp down, helpless to stop this slow, smooth, hot glide. “Right here in this kitchen, in front of all those windows… and won't stop or rest until he blows his load inside you.” When the older man rolls back this time he doesn’t stop, sinking in one long thrust to the hilt until the zipper teeth are digging into the boy’s ass, pushing him teetering over the tip of his toes. His breath creaks into a moan, meant to be a yelp of protest, yet it rings melodious and sultry—and he suddenly becomes aware that his spent dick is throbbing where it’s trapped against the side of the counter, hard and leaking again, soaking the front of his apron in pre.

“N-no—” Sliding away from his tingling skin, two elegant hands splay open at each side of Isaiah’s chest. The edge against his stomach digs even harder, denim grazing his skin as the man starts deliberate plunges into his ass, cock drawing with a loud slurp of his clinging hole and then a slow wet squelch, slowly smoothing the way with oil and the man’s juices. He can trace it as it dives deep into his body by the sheer heat alone, a pillar of solid fire seeping warmth into his flesh, and the boy can feel his flush deepening, toes spreading open. “W-wait," Isaiah coughs and whimpers shakily, something tight and breathless clogging his throat, an odd something effervescent feeling prickling his skin as those heavy hips roll forward, and heaves back again. “No—you c-can’t. T-this is wrong. Stop—” He twists his head but instead of pressing his forehead on the damp surface, he feels the bright warmth of that cock pushing into his belly, hot, so _hot_ —his back arches and his head moves up, another groan shuddering out.

"Poor thing," Benjamin rasps out a low laugh. “There's no going back from this anymore.”

“N-no, no—no—” Isaiah clings to the marble as he pushed back and forth over it, the anvil upon which his dad is fucking into him. The thrusts grow heavier, cramming deep into his deflowered hole and paving over Isaiah’s prostate, whose knees jerk and hit and scrap against the counter every time, own arousal dripping slick as he sobs and twitches. “You—y-you can stop. Dad, daddy, p-please stop—"

“I won’t. I know you love it.” The man’s voice is smoky, breath almost harsh against his neck. “I know you love it when I use my big dick on you.”

Isaiah’s legs are trembling, warmed lube trickling down the inside of his thighs. "I- I don't... p-please t-take it out...!" Hands sliding down to knead over his ass, his cheeks are rolled in rough circles, powerful fingers squeezing them around that half-buried length, and spreading them wide—to bury to the hilt again, dragging a gasp from the boy’s throat as he feels it hit deeper than ever. Benjamin’s hipbones dig tight to his flesh, grinding his head around that fresh inch of him the older man just claimed, and Isaiah finds himself pushing back as he throbs hard, even as he shakes his head frantically, panting. “Someone will s-see—someone—sah, ah, no, _ah_ -”

Thick-throbbing length spearing up inside him, Isaiah chokes on his own words and spittle when shaky moans insist in pouring from his throat as his stepdad shoves strokes to his ass one after the other. The boy finds himself on the balls of his feet and curled toes with socks bunched up between them, heels never quite meeting the floor before the swing of Benjamin’s hips, the drive of that cock jostles him up and forward on the counter time and again with those lewd slicked noises of his ring slurping up that piece of meat. His shoulders shake gathered together, his arms twisting to brace himself—to stop him from headbutting the wall as he fogs up the marble, panting, Isaiah's brows tightened in a desperate, hopeless expression, his mouth open wide.

“Yeah?” Benjamin is starting to breathe a bit heavier, fingers curling at each side of his chest as he hammers greedily. “And what will they see, boy?”

“Ah—ah, _uh_ —”

“Say it.”

Tears blurry his vision as noisy moan continues to slip from him, shaped like vague syllables of denials and pleas for— _for_ _something_ , for more, for less, for mercy, not even Isaiah himself could be certain. He cries at his shameful need – cock hot and sensitive unwillingly rutting the apron and counter, dribbles of pre dripping down his balls and thighs, the rough and rude friction doing nothing to dissuade it from its arousal – at the sinful, burning pleasure and how he can no longer hold back from shoving his ass back for more, from doing his best to properly present himself to this forbidden, terrible claiming. His _own dad_ and he is _fucking_ Isaiah, making his ass _sting_ from the constant slap of the older man’s body to his and his legs cramp from tensing up against this unyielding assault, this loathed of sense and morality. He’ll be sore for days. He’ll be bruised for weeks.

A sudden sharp bite of pain and pleasure tears a cry out of him, his head flinging up as his back bows and knees knock together—before he hears the _smack!_ of flesh on flesh, the crack of bones snapping together. Open zipper digs and saws indents at his ass with every vehement point-blank thrust, the stiffer denim rubbing rustles against the cotton of the boy’s shorts while the man plunders his depths with that cruel cockhead. He is pulsing violently in him, Isaiah can feel the strain, the rapid pressure at the bottom of every grind, the dull churn of his inner walls around the man. “Don’t make me repeat myself,” Benjamin growls right behind his ear.

Single, tiny noise, somewhere between a moan and a squeak, escapes the boy’s throat before it seizes shut. He chokes. “U-us…. doing… doing bad t-th-things.”

The older man tsks, hips still rolling in deliciously rhythmic, punishing circles. “Use your words, boy.”

Isaiah grips at the walls, sobbing. His entire body is drawing taut, trembling and clutching around that roving weapon. “Daddy—” he wheezes out. “T-they’ll see da-ddy f-fucking me…!”

“That’s right.” The older man laughs, hoarse and deep. “And what’s wrong with a dad nailing his son’s tight, pretty ass whenever he feels like it?” And suddenly he drags back only to snaps his hips forward, retaking the fucking of his son with neck-breaking vigor. Isaiah _wails_ , hands scrambling over the wall and his second climax hits him as abruptly as the thrusts searing his ass again, the churning of his balls barely feeling like anything more than electric shivers running through his body to make him reflexively wring at that weapon punishing his belly – the spill of his arousal is certainly imperceptible on the already messed up apron, while on his shirt is noted as nothing more than another damp spot. His cries break into ragged rasps between moans as the heavy staccato breaks into a cacophony of blows grinding furiously through his ass, losing rhythm to pure, lusty drive. “Even more when the son is a little slut like you.”

“D—daddy, dad, ah, aha—!” His voice surges highs and drags low under the force of those blows, his body faltering, heaving forward under the brutality his dad carves into him. And Isaiah _craves_ it desperately – the shattering of his denial and shame in the form of the crackle of his chest with every wet sob, every wavering moan, and the drool trickling down his chin, his open mouth, tears rolling down his face to drip on the counter. Any pretense this is not something he wants washes away at the sweeping, irresistible pleasure, filling him with the memories of his dad’s cumming inside him, of that first night when the man declared in the brutal honesty how desirable he found his son’s hole and Isaiah first experienced the hotness of a gush of man’s seed.

He wants it again. _He wants it again._

“I’m gonna come,” Benjamin groans, lips at Isaiah’s ear. “I’m gonna blow inside your ass, boy.”

“ _No_ ,” he sobs. Begs. Clawing the wall, the counter, knees scrapping and hitting each other. “Daddy, please, ah, uh, uh--!”

"I gonna fill you with hot jizz—"

" _You can’t_ —!” The final stroke claps sharply through the room, all the louder for echoing in sudden, straining silence as Isaiah’s voice cuts, and broke sounds of his denial dies as they both feel the first burst of heat rushes deep inside the boy’s belly in thick, potent gushes. Filling up his every recess, soaking the full of him, marking him with his essence once again. One more load to the hundreds his dad has dumped in his hole already, and Isaiah still trembles at the press of seed into his flesh. Isaiah’s voice finally gasps and he arches like a vindicated slut, flushed and drunk, feeling his muscled chest heaving to his back as the older man holds him tight and grinds each wad nice and deep, and the boy accepts his hard-earned cum with thick, labored moans, toes digging at the floor and goosebumps filling his skin as he’s bred.

His head sways. This… is what he wanted.

He slumps slowly, laying heavy onto the counter still struggling to regain his breath while Benjamin groans, powerful throbs easing off little by little as his liquid hot satisfaction spreads through him, evidence of their crime trickling slowly down Isaiah’s legs. And the goosebumps turn into shivers, turns into a blush of disgraceful delight at the fact it was his body that did this. That pleasured this man.

"Daddy..." Isaiah's words are slurred and breathless. "it’s... s-so hot inside me, daddy…"

Benjamin laughs, grinding his seed deeper into his boy. “I knew since the moment I saw you,” he purrs softly. “That this was how it'd turn out.”

* * *

Isaiah never finishes washing the dishes.

Eyes filled with water, and he chokes on the fat shaft stretching his throat rudely as he weakly grasps his dad's jeans, zipper nipping at his cheeks with every avid thrust while his gag reflex is trodden over. "S-shit, you are- I can't...!" Benjamin hisses between gasps, plummeting at the inside of his head eagerly, the thick curve painfully pushing against the back of his neck and grinding his vocal cords to nothing. The world is blurry and spinning, filled with white spots as his head is held firmly by broad hands, liquids dribbling down his chin, his neck. Coarse hair prickling his face. Musk and sweaty filling his lungs. He can feel every blow echo down his body, his insides churning in time with the assault.

"So tight...!" Benjamin groans between pants. "Fuck—you feel so _good_." His hips are brutal, fingers curling tight in his scalp and hair to keep the obedient son's head in place to be passionately humped. "Best throat ever, ah-" Each throb strains him painfully, that steely length hot on his tongue and between his spread lips; and half-kneeling, half-sitting on the kitchen cold floor with his dick out, Isaiah can not pretend he isn't hard. That this is happening to him, and while trembling of humiliation and aching around that rod pulsing deep in his throat, his cock jumps and spurts with every hungry grind down this strained fuckhole that was once his neck.

Shame curdles in the bottom of his lungs at the swell of sensations in his gut and his already flushed face burns hotter, recognizing the shivers running up his spine like a warning. He's close. He has done nothing, yet his thighs quiver under the surge of an oncoming orgasm. Isaiah can feel the power of his every throb against his tongue, can feel the tension rise in his dad's body around him as Benjamin fucks his mouth, his every exhalation a heaving groan of delight. His body trembles harder in response, slipping from his desperate control—when Benjamin plunges and seals his hips to his face with rolling, turbulent grinds as his head falls back with a guttural moan, at the first surge of heat Isaiah loses.

Liquid splatters against his stomach and chest hard first, then in little spurts in sync with the throbs inside his throat, cum running down the length of his twitching dick to drip to the floor. Isaiah clings to his dad's legs, quivering hard while his eyes burn, feeling his stomach grows hot with this man's vile load.

A heavy sigh finally rolls from Benjamin and he slowly drags out of his neck— the world swims around him a moment as that fat knob of cockhead finally pulls out of his mouth, shining with a coat of saliva and jizz. His eyesight shimmers when merciful cum-soaked air suddenly reaches his lungs and Isaiah gasps painfully, then falls into a burning coughing fit as he crumbles back, hands meeting the floor behind him.

Thick drops dripping from his chin as he heaves for air, Isaiah shakily looks up.

Through his wavering vision, he glimpses his stepfather's hungry expression from behind his still proudly standing erection—then the man is kneeling down, forcing Isaiah onto his back with a single shove before firming a thigh at each side of his hips, hands impatiently seizing and pushing his legs wide apart. Isaiah pushes at his chest with stuttered, trembling protests but snarling over him, Benjamin grips his hips and thrusts - words splitter into a cry as Isaiah's head whips up, back snapping away the cold floor as hard flesh rams into him in one abrupt shove.

"I'm not done with you," his dad growls at his throat, harsh huffs of air caressing his skin, before the tiles screech under his shoes and the man hauls in against the floor to pound Isaiah, hips jerking and tearing at his insides with this insatiable weapon nature gave him. And Isaiah cries out again, clawing at his shoulders in desperation as he's once more reclaimed.

* * *

His apron is discarded in the kitchen.

His shirt is ripped out and thrown carelessly over the dining table.

His sneakers and socks left in a trail down the hallway, that halts at the soiled and stained shorts abandoned in a pile at the feet of a small cabinet, on top of which Benjamin smothers his stepson's cries and tear-choked moans with a tongue swirling wet and hot inside the boy's mouth, arms wrapped around him. The pictures before resting there lay scattered on the floor from when Benjamin shoved them out of the way, or by the manner of the furniture wobbling hard under their shifting, the boy's legs quivering where they cling around his father's waist while the man fucks him - upperside of the cock rasping against the elastic band of Isaiah's underwear, as it remains dressed due to Benjamin's too thin impatience.

They are both slicked with semen and sweat as the older man smacks their hips together with a rapturous groan muffled in their joined lips, and paints his son's ass for perhaps the fifth or sixth time already. He breaks the kiss, panting, and Isaiah immediately gasps for air, his whole body shaking with the effort. His disoriented expression evaporates when his head hits the wall, a ragged cry ripping from him as Benjamin ducks his head and catches one of his nipples between his lips, sucking gently, at the same time he wraps a hand around the boy's tender cock and starts a fast-paced pump.

"N-no, wait, I can't—daddy!"

Legs jerking and squirming desperately, Isaiah struggles to stop the almost painful stimulation, arms trapped between their bodies pushing and shoving—too late, however, and unbearable agony jerks at the insides of his legs and rips open a flood of sore relief, his mouth tripping open in silence as his balls cramp, spilling just a pitiful dollop of liquid.

The last his body could summon right now.

The boy sobs between whimpers when the tide of his orgasms recedes, leaving him feeling wrecked. "Dad, p-please. N-no more..."

Benjamin laughs, the sound coming out coarse, and jerks free of Isaiah's hole. As if to prove a point, for juices pour out of him in thick, goopy glops and strings, abundant like this man's bottomless lust.

* * *

Legs pushed up and folded against the armrest, breathing is hard. Isaiah chokes for air among the moans rammed out of him as he clutches the upholstered with desperate tension. His own throbbing arousal slaps at his belly and flings confused slops of liquids everywhere as he is rocked brutally across the side of the couch, setting the furniture creaking in protest under the pounding of his dad’s hips, his knees seized in the man’s unforgiving grip. A mixture of old cum and pre seeps down his ass and get speckled across the cushions as those heavy orbs smack time and again onto his sore cheeks, and Benjamin snarls like a beast as he violates his son’s shaking half-limp form.

The overwhelmed boy can’t do anything but take it quivering, lungs caught between the crushing weight of the older man and that blunt hammer of cockhead pounding deep within him and struggling to drag air in, for all that it so easily is let loose in form of wet, desperate moans. Tears stream down his face. His muscles burn exhausted, and his ass feels raw and oversensitive from the almost continuous use since his mother stepped outside the house, and no amount of begging will grant him mercy from Benjamin’s insatiable hunger. A guttural sound, a roar, and the man lunge forward with a blow of hips to cheeks that sends Isaiah’s hipbones cracking, his spine bending and head pressing against the armchair. Quivering and gasping, the broken boy submissively takes gush after gush of hot seed once more, his skin crawling with shivers, nails digging into the couch as his legs hang limp and low at each side.

 _Click_. Under the thundering of their breathing and his own heart, Isaiah misses the sound of the front door swinging open and then slamming shut. Or the lazy footsteps approaching from the hallway, heavy boots meeting the hardwood.

But he doesn’t miss the voice, amused, when it speaks. “Started without me?”

Suddenly with empty lungs, Isaiah’s eyes snap open and dart to the side. On the large entrance of the living room, David is tossing aside a duffle bag while casting an appreciating look to them, thin lips crooked in a lopsided smile. Choking on shallow pants, the boy jerks, tries to sit up—or at least to change their compromising position, but still folded and speared in his stepdad’s cock, he can do nothing but push weakly at the man’s chest, knees jolting uselessly under their shackles. "Ah, ah, w-wait..."

Benjamin ignores him, still slowly grinding their hips together with satisfied sighs. “You’re the one late. I told you at what time she was going to leave.”

“Hey, you warned me this morning. I had to first find an excuse to get out of the house.”

That warm, slickened shaft rolling steadily inside him is constantly soaking his senses with pleasure, scraping over his prostate and sending sparkles of agony to his painfully tender cock, and he has difficulty to order his thoughts. But the meaning behind this conversation is not one that demands a lot of mental effort, not when Isaiah has the last months of his life to provide the answer so very easily – with his mother out of the house, really, why else would David be here? The duffle bag is the one he usually uses to carry his own art supplies, and he only brings it here when he’s planning on helping Benjamin with work.

Or at least when he _says_ he’s planning on helping.

Panting harshly, Isaiah’s heart hammers against his sternum.

“Just shut up and hurry up.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The blond man plunks his phone on the dinner table, uncuffing his sleeves and rolling them up as he approaches. "Anyway, I got thank you, you've no idea how I’ve been needing this." His zipper slides open noisily.

“Linda still not feeling up to it?”

“No, she’s still recovering from the birth. And I’m not about to pester a woman who just had a baby for sex.”

Benjamin chuckles and suddenly yanks out with a loud sucking _pop_. The boy gasps sharply, almost cry, feeling his beleaguered hole twitching around an almost painful emptiness, cum spilling from a loose, puffy rim. He barely has time to pull back from the shock when he’s flipped and thrown over the armrest, just moments before hands seize his wrists and pull them together behind his back. Isaiah turns startled in time to see his stepdad pulling his leather belt from his jeans, but a large, powerful hand knots fingers in his hair and hauls his head back – to face an impatiently throbbing log of flesh. “Not when I have such a cute alternative so close to home.” Isaiah shakily glances up. David smiles at him, green eyes heavy-lidded. “Isn’t that right, Isa?”

Isaiah’s breathing stutters to nothing.

A thumb brushes his cheek. “Now, why don’t you get on treating your uncle?”

Quick, practiced hands wrap the belt around his wrists, binding them tightly together with a soft metallic click just as his head is pushed down – face mashed against that hard, massive thing, so much it hardly budges. Swallowing thickly, the boy screws his eyes shut and drags a shaky breath. Powerful musk hits his nose immediately, soaking up his lungs. He spreads trembling lips wide apart, his cheeks slowly warming as he leans down… and starts to slurp over the side of that cock, tongue surging up to brush it. His brow furrows as the familiar flavor of his uncle’s arousal fills his mouth, slipping down his throat as he swallows. Isaiah shivers. _Familiar_. Yes. Perhaps not as much as the feeling of his dad pushing inside him, but his uncle loves to tell Isaiah he has a ‘velvet throat’, after all—his shaft heaves with each slurp, thick veins bulging in pulses under his tastebuds as he climbs his way up from the base.

A rumble of approval leaves the man as he sucks up the cockhead, caressing the beading slit with the tip of his tongue the way he knows David likes. "Ooh, our boy is learning so well." Despite the compliment, the man pulls his chin and hot meat slides over his tongue and pushes in against the roof of his mouth. Isaiah inhales sharply. “That’s why you’re my favorite nephew.”

Benjamin hums amused behind the trembling boy. "Sam would be heartbroken to hear that." He pulls the knot taut, twisting the end once around his hand and leaving his stepson tied with a rein for him to pull by. Muscled thighs slide in behind his, the older man shifting his weight as he holds Isaiah just by the belt and a damp, hard cock pushes between his cheeks, the once again drooling tip stirring the already mess of slickness there as it finds its mark. The boy chokes on a mouthful of thick precum, skin bristling as that eager tip poked around his backside – his dad once again hard as if he hadn’t come a dozen times already. One proper, firm push and Isaiah opens easily with all the extra lubrication, pounded muscles yielding softly with a wet squelch. Benjamin groans out, and Isaiah can’t quite hold back a whimper of his own, though muffled by David’s dick, as he is steadily stuffed. The man works in to the hilt slowly, and as a lustful sigh leaves his throat while Isaiah quivers. "But I think our boy here appreciates being the only cumdump in the family."

"Hmm, I don’t know. Competition can be healthy." His hips rock in to firmly nuzzle that cockhead against the back of his throat a moment, and he gags a little, eyes watering. "What do you think, Isa?" He draws back until that flared crown teases the inside of his lips as if to let Isaiah speak, but the boy is allowed a single gasp for breath before his uncle pushes in again, plugging his throat closed. "Don't worry, though. There'd still be plenty of cock for you to enjoy."

Benjamin laughs and thrusts, slapping ass to balls and sending him into David – Isaiah chokes heavily when that wedged knob doesn’t budge back and instead pushes forward, triggering his gag reflex as his uncle bucks and shoves him into his dad’s next plunge, who is already pulling him back by the leather. He barely manages to draw ragged, precum-slogged breaths around that fat dick and with his head starting to spin, Isaiah can feel himself start to get dizzy with lack of air as he is rocked between both men, who easily find a good rhythm in fucking him, keeping Isaiah utterly skewered and deep in a familiar sense of powerlessness. The boy shuts his burning eyes tight; throat and stomach convulsing as his uncle slowly pries his neck open with pleasurable moans. His heartbeat drums in his ears. With his arms bent behind his back, he’s only supported by the firm grip on his head and the tugging on the belt, chest barely touching the armrest. His shoulders burn in protest. His legs twitch, exhausted. Saliva and pre leak from the corners of his mouth, dripping from his chin, as David strain the tight folds of his esophagus apart open with each thrust, as Benjamin pounds with tight little grunts and snarls, Isaiah’s ass all loose and slicked after everything today.

The moment comes when their carefully maintained rhythm wavers – they both shove forward at the same time instead of taking turns and with a wet, sudden _lurch_ , their combined strength pops David inside his nephew’s throat, cockhead bulging the once-slender neck. The boy’s eyes snap wide open. Isaiah’s whole body shakes as that fat swell works its way down toward his chest in one hungry grind, that fat shaft sliding inch by inch into his mouth until he’s nuzzling his uncle’s groin. But he’s not given time to recover from the shock—one moment David is balls deep and painting his neck with pre, the next the man is dragging off – only to thrust and slam those hips into his face again. Isaiah gags audibly, the violent impact causing him to tense up right as Benjamin plunges back in. His cry is but a wet gurgle no one pays attention to, his painfully-twitching arousal spurting a pathetic gush of almost watery cum with toes curling, face flushed red. The entire living room seems to fill with their lusty groans and snarls, with the wet smack of sweaty bodies and the obscene pops and squelches as they set on abusing the poor boy’s entrances with unchecked eagerness, ignorant of the boy's orgasm.

David pounds into his nephew’s face with growing unabashed hunger, heavy balls beating the boy across the chin as he fucks his neck until Isaiah is seeing spots, until it’s nothing but a tight tunnel for a cock once again. Thick strings and globs of precum sluices free of Isaiah’s mouth with every draw, leaking from between his lips, or overflowing from the teeming pool under his tongue, face taking the punishment of that throbbing dick and those surging hips, beating at him hard enough to bounce him back into his stepdad’s rutting. His insides are lined with the seed of their previous sessions, making the slide as easy as it can get with Benjamin, and yet his walls sizzle and quiver under the man’s rough claiming, the rush of pleasure as his prostate is paved without mercy washing a familiar, guilt-tinged ecstasy through him, making his fingers tremble in their prison of leather.

It’s a thing of beauty, really, the vision of those still clothed man jouncing violently the naked boy between their hips, taking out their lust on the bound, stupefied Isaiah, mouth and rear pillaged by his dad and uncle. The couch creaks under their bodies, as the only witness to this wicked transgression, while the world outside moves on with no idea of what is happening behind their closed curtains and locked doors.

This goes on for who knows how long until the men are panting noisily and sweating, clinging to that slender boy greedily, eyes hooded and mouths hanging open as they fuck, and fuck, and fuck, every stroke a sweet agony for their throbbing cocks, ingraining in them more of this bottomless hunger, this reckless lust. No thought goes to their victim, who hangs limp in their clutches with a numb mind, glassy eyes half-closed, and a puddle of liquids on the sofa underneath his spent cock, incapable of even getting hard anymore. Yet they ache for _more_ , every grind of flesh across flesh, every throb against those thin-stretched walls an overwhelming crush of pleasure that demands they keep going, to keep fucking, their bodies arching as their hips jerks desperately, for every stroke seems so much more intense than the last and surely, _surely,_ _they could last a little longer—_

The first surge comes just as a roar tears from the stepfather’s throat, and the man slams hard into his son’s ass as his head whips back and Benjamin comes hard. His balls pump his obscene delight, and Isaiah convulses and tighten around him, trembling with the surge of hot seed flooding his guts until it starts overflowing out of the boy’s desecrated ass in thick, sloppy globs, coating his dad’s balls and legs and the couch below. When Benjamin is finally empty, it is a great effort to pull on the belt, keeping himself hilted as he drags his stepson back in sympathy for the fevered panting of his brother. The cracks and slurps of a throat in use turn in a violent dissonance of flesh slapping together as the blond man grow frantic, juices splattering across the furniture and floor.

Benjamin watches on, wearing a smile that would have been nice if his hair hadn’t been plastered on his face and his fingers wrapped around his leather belt, dick buried inside his half-unconscious son’s ass. If he hadn’t been watching his brother pumping raw, throbbing meat down Isaiah’s throat – until, suddenly, slamming tight to his face and staying, back arched, gasping out a groan. Sudden, liquid heat erupts in Isaiah’s throat and washes down, filling his already full stomach with steamy warmth in gushes as his uncle holds him planted tight to his crotch, balls flexing and flexing against his chin. For just a moment, the older man’s smooth voice betrays a shiver, his head falling back as he moans his pleasure, green eyes closed.

The click and release of the pressure around his wrists finally jolts some vague form of consciousness in what is left of Isaiah’s mind, for all that he cannot move an inch from where he’s sandwiched between these two cocks. His eyes, long since hazed to blindness, slide close with an odd sensation tingling in the back of his head that he is not prepared to call _pride_ , as he feels the thick, hot seed filling him from both ends. Dad and uncle finally drag their still pulsing shafts from Isaiah’s neck and ass, rear releasing more easily with a sucking slurp, while the broad swell of David’s crown bumps into the muscles of the back of his throat, and clings briefly before the man manages to pull free with a soft, wet pop. A garbled, soggy sound pushes out of his throat, together with a splatter of white jizz, that joins the pre and saliva dripping from his chin, while a hot mess dribbles from his slightly gaping butt.

When the hands holding him let go, the young man finally crumbles onto the damp couch, wheezing with great difficulty. Awareness starts to slowly slip from his mind, shaping the world into vague blurs of light and shadow, confusing and distant. His body is an achy mess of sore muscles and bruises, and when he tries to shift to look around a little, a large hand caresses his head. "Sleep now, boy,” someone murmurs, with a soft chuckle. "You’re going to need it later."

He tries to mumble something, his voice coming out weak, cracking in his throat. But darkness spreads around him and Isaiah soaks down into a deep, warm sleep.


	2. a short flashback

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a little something i wrote cause i was bored

“This is Benjamin,” his mother says, gesturing to the man standing on their door. “This is my son, Isaiah.”

Loose tank top and jeans with hazel-nut hair in a half bun and a barely-there beard; a different type to his mother’s usual brand of boyfriends of sharp suits and golden wristwatches. Isaiah hesitates in his uncertainty before offering his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Benjamin steps closer and grabs his hand, and his fingers are rough and calloused, his palm broad. He smiles, double-lidded eyes curving lazily.

Isaiah swallows suddenly.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

-

Isaiah wakes up in confusion. His thoughts are sluggish and heavy as they cling to the numbness of sleep and a dream that seems to merge with the gradual realization something… something is wrong – his eyes are stuck closed and he can’t seem to find them, lost in the sea of hazy, shaking uncertainty rolling inside him and underneath the dead weight of half-asleep limbs, Isaiah becomes aware of the _slicked warmth_ between his thighs. His legs bent but spread open, his boxers clinging to his hipbones, and there is a motion of gentle pressure around him and Isaiah shudders, toes curling as something strokes him with a long, deliberate pull. _Damp and warm and soft_ , a gentle caress full of pleasure and his drowsy-deep breathing stutters, a moan escaping only to be muffled against what his slow-rousing mind takes a moment to identify as a pillow. “Nngh— _ah_ —"

Knees trembling, Isaiah instinctively grabs the pillow as it repeats, something soft brushing against the skin of the inside of his thighs, and through the haze of confused lethargy, his blood courses with heat. _A hand_ caresses the outside of his thigh, long fingers following the arch of his muscles down to the dip at his hip, and the head between his legs presses down slowly and Isaiah presses himself up with the instinctive flex of pleasure. He finds himself swallowing a soft whimper, head arching back as heat rushes to his loins – h-he’s hard, _god_ , pulsing and throbbing and drooling across the tongue gliding across his underside, whole body shaking. All his skin is tingling like he’s been shocked and there’s fear rising with the adrenaline, making Isaiah’s heart pound fire against his ribs, thrumming a symphony in his bones that he can feel all the way to his scalp. The boy finally finds his eyes as he gasps into the pillow, eyelids fluttering open not unlike the waving of a bird's wings and his vision is hazed and disoriented. A dark bedroom greets him, the open windows allowing a sliver of moonlight. He tries to shifts, to look down; yet his body feels boneless despite the humming of building tension and he cannot do much past tilting his chin down, glancing over the stammering plane of his chest and stomach.

Between the peaks of his bent knees, his blanket outlines poorly the unknown intruder as they move slowly, an easy bobbing of their head that matches the slide of those lips firm around his length. His mind caught torn between lingering sleep and the unexpected heat of arousal struggles to come together enough to form a cohesive thought, rationality beyond the sudden comprehension there is _someone_ between his legs.

And that pervasive warmth is a _mouth_.

Someone is _sucking_ his cock.

There’s a flash of panic that tears through Isaiah, and in a blind need to get _away_ he tries to move; to kick at the person. But his thoughts are breaking apart, crackling under the heat starting to take over his whole body, and he’s not entirely sure where each of his limbs is and how to move them at will. His legs jerk, feet turning inwards as his hands shake, weakly grasping the sheets above his head and the unbearable press around him, the lazy swipes of a tongue tasting his tender flesh pushes moans from Isaiah’s lips, breaking through the spasms in the back of his throat. They eat him up greedily, pushing down to capture inches of his length as he grinds along the roof of their mouth until Isaiah is pressing a threshold of soft, wet folds, again and again; head rising until his crown is just catching at their lips before smoothly pressing to slurp him up once more. They breathe warmth onto his skin while their tongue traces the contours of his cock and Isaiah’s own breathing turns whimpering and he _can’t think_ , he _can’t make himself focus_. His cock and thighs and skin are all burning with _too much_ sensation, he is barely remembering to breathe every minute or so, a pressure building up in his lower belly he barely recognizes and yet his throat tightens, choking a sound that feels like a moan but comes out sounding like a sob. The shudder is like a violent electric shock and his feet dig into the mattress, back leaving the bed as he cries out, muffled into the pillow—Isaiah’s every limb tremble with the sudden force of his orgasm, denied, stifled, and now bursting free.

The stranger breaths slowly in turns with their swallowing, lips firmly sealed around his base as they take the boy’s desperate gushes greedily, a low groan mixed with a sigh caressing Isaiah’s prickled skin leaving them once Isaiah melts back to the bed. Isaiah’s head is whirling like he’s not breathing enough, which is ridiculous, he’s _panting_ , he’s breathing so hard you could hear it filling the bedroom, and the haze in his thoughts now has nothing to do with sleep, he’s wide awake and letting out a weak protest with no words, quivering as they let him slip free of their terrible mouth only to lick and slurp on the sides of his softening cock. Tongue twisting and curling over him, almost as if cleaning him of every drop of his liquid arousal.

They finally settle, hunger seemly satiated as they let him go to move up, damp lips finding his still heaving belly and trailing a path of kisses until the edge of his ribcage, the tingling caused by such soft touch melting into the dying shivers of his climax. Isaiah lets a shuddering breath go, blinking a bit dizzy with a face flushed hot with confusing feelings of shame and arousal, feeling the gentle brush of hair while the person nuzzles his stomach and fingers slides over the curve of his waist, hooking on the edge of his underwear. A shiver of trepidation runs up his back. A rough noise rasp from his throat, vaguely resembling a protest as they pull down the back of that thin layer of fabric, leaving it just under the curve of his ass and the elastic band pressing around his thighs before they grip his sides and turns him on his belly with a rustle of the sheets.

A hand settles between his shoulder blades and there’s a rush of chillness when the person moves to their knees, dragging away the blanket. It hangs like a curtain at each side of Isaiah; like an archway made of soft fabric, trapping the sound of a cap being popped open and something being dropped on the mattress after a moment. Then a hand moves to touch his ass and Isaiah jerks at the fingers slipping between his cheeks, slicked and cold—then his breath snaps to a sharp groan at the touch turned into pressure and one finger slowly breaching him. “Uhg _._ ” His hips jolt forward, his body acting on reflex to tighten but finds resistance, other hand sliding down to pin him to the mattress by the hips. The finger slides out leisurely… only to come back with another, pushing past his tense rim with slow indifference, and Isaiah whimpers, hands curling around his sheets. “W-wait…”

They grind into him with subtle sway, and little electric shivers radiate through him from every brush up his walls. While his mind is still stammering over the reality of what is happening, he quivers with each push and draw with shoulders tilting forward and muffling his voice in the pillow, and he doesn’t know if he’s just too weak with these limbs that don’t seem to want to cooperate, or if the other person is just stronger. Heavier. But Isaiah pushes against the mattress and doesn’t move an inch, and can’t do anything but gasp at the steady rhythm building up inside him. The rush of friction against his taut rim, playing a humming tension on his stretched muscles that makes his back arches in helplessness with a mangled noise of protest that goes nowhere. Isaiah can’t help it. It’s not even that they are being rough, though the boy has no experience to compare to it. But every slow press of strain inside him runs through his body like a wince of involuntary tension; a reaction to the strangest feeling of being touched where he’s never experienced any such sensation, of being _full_ though he never thought of being empty before.

It doesn’t—doesn’t _hurt_. And that doesn’t make any _sense_.

There’s a soft hum from behind him, quiet in its bass tone that manages to pierce the symphony of small noises, and they— _he_ shifts forward, palm at Isaiah’s hips drawing up to glide under his t-shirt and push it out of the way for his mouth, soft and damp as it presses a kiss against Isaiah’s spine. “Look at you, opening up so nicely for me.” The heat of his breath singes his skin – and Isaiah shuts his eyes, grappling desperately to regain some rationality from the scattered heat it has become, but this person’s fingers are still sliding _into_ him, working deep and slow strokes with steady force, and Isaiah’s efforts crumble again and again. “Were you waiting for me, Isa?”

 _Ah_. Isaiah shakes his head, whimpering against the pillow he hugs to his face and the sound comes muffled and overwhelmed. “I… I, p-please—”

“Oh?” He reaches out to brace himself on an elbow on the mattress beside Isaiah’s head, so his bigger body is together with the blanket forming a cage over Isaiah lying prone and vulnerable before him, and his fingers are pulling, wrist shifting to move faster, and Isaiah’s body is thrumming in answer, the boy gasping. “Are you saying you didn’t miss your dad?” A splash of shivers crawl through his skin and do nothing to douse the warmth inside his veins, for there aren´t from horror or shock. No. Isaiah can’t gather enough of himself to even pretend he is _surprised_. At the moment he comprehended there was _someone_ in his bed, that he became aware of the flushed heat of another’s skin, he can’t even say he didn’t think—suspected, _realized_. Because who else could it be? Who else—in a locked house, in his own bedroom, with his mother just a few feet away—who else would?

_Who else?_

“Because I did… I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Benjamin purrs against the back of Isaiah’s neck, and his fingers drive in hard, forcing past the instinctive tension of Isaiah’s entrance and the boy gasps a breath. He is shaking beneath his stepdad and Isaiah can feel the smeared slide of them, can feel his flesh yielding for Benjamin’s touch and all the strength in him is powerless to resist, to fight back the rising warmth running through his thighs. H-he’s getting… hard… again. “Every time I slept with her, I’d think how it would feel if it was _you_ moaning my name instead…”

Isaiah sobs, his hands clutching disarray into the sheets. “D-don’t… don’t say that…” It’s hard to find air, even harder still to find words when his whole being is shaking and he feels the strain of it pressing at his chest, struggling to pass the clench in his throat that tries to turn every sound into a moan.

“It’s the truth,” Benjamin says, low, soft. “You drive me nuts, boy.” And the fingers inside Isaiah draws back, slipping out of the tight grip of his ass with a wet noise. Seemly stripping the heat out of him and bringing no relief; if anything, Isaiah feels the loss keenly, whimpering at the way his body seems to throb in the absence of touch, and his entrance damp with lube quivers around what he now perceives as an emptiness, after being so well-introduced for the first time to the idea of having something inside. The thought alone burns the back of his throat with shame, eyes watering. The disgust curdling his stomach doing nothing to the knot of heat there as well – or to the fact Isaiah lays there panting open-mouthed and just listens to the sound of Benjamin unfastening his pants and of fabric dragging over skin. There is no strength in his body; all he is left is the quivering awareness of his cock throbbing with anticipation, sheets damp with precome hugging his shaft as his mind whirls with the comprehension of what is about to happen. He presses his forehead hard against the pillow when the bed shifts; a hand grasps at his hip and Isaiah is drawn backward over his knees, cock dipping in the air while there’s a pressure of contact against the inside of his legs, Benjamin’s knees urging Isaiah’s owns apart. There’s no time to do more than flush with self-consciousness at the shameful position, for big hands are clutching to brace at Isaiah’s hips— and hot, naked flesh pushes his cheeks apart.

He finds all he can do is to hold back a shaky breath, body tensing with a sudden thrill he can’t tell if it’s of panic or adrenaline.

_Is he really going to—?_

A smoothed tip pushes against his lubed-up hole, leaving a print of dampness and heat over his twitching rim– then the hands around his waist firms their hold and Isaiah clutches at the sheets with an inhale of sensation that that stammers, repeats, a breathless and voiceless crescendo, as hot flesh pushes into him with deliberate slowness, making him vividly aware of his flesh stretching over the slicked head. Then the crown slips through, his body swaying forward with the motion of this intrusion – and for a moment, the world swims across his vision, his throat seized shut as he feels his rim closing behind that slope of skin with instinctively tightening and leaving him with the all-pervading sensation of heated resistance inside him. Isaiah’s mouth falls open without a noise and he quivers, mind rendered thoughtlessly. But respite lasts only until Benjamin’s gusty exhale finishes, a groan swelling in his throat after. “You feel amazing,” the man says, and he’s pushing, urging his throbbing girth into Isaiah smoothly and firmly, and it should be too much. It’s bigger, harder, _hotter_ ; nothing like the feeling of his fingers. A heated glide that drags friction over nerve endings he didn’t know existed and yields nothing to his spasming muscles, levering his virgin ass open as exhalations of relish caress the sweaty skin of his nape. “ _Fuck_ , Isa.”

His dad draws back a few inches then rolls his hips forward, pushing even deeper inside Isaiah as he groans again, and Isaiah can’t think clearly, can’t figure out _what to do_ , how to react, or _protest_ to this development. This is _wrong_. This—t-they can’t, they… can’t just—Benjamin is _raping_ him on his own bed. H-he’s—Isaiah can’t just stay quiet. Can’t just let him do this to him without even resisting. This man _married his mom_ not even a month ago and now he’s— _he’s_ …!

“Isa,” Benjamin breathes out as he draws his cock out, a wet slurp of pre and lube and heat; as he grips at his waist for another deliberate thrust forward, sinking into Isaiah, stretching him open as he eases even deeper. “You’re so _soft_ , god.”

Isaiah tries to say something, to pull free of the haze falling over his awareness – but the words turn into a moan, a wavering sound born from somewhere between terrible arousal and rising strain of the pressure opening a path inside him, with an edge of pain against his spine that does not quite reach true pain. It _should_ hurt. All reason and logic agree with that. It should be unbearable to feel this, to be used in this way when Isaiah has never done anything similar, but Benjamin leans forward again to bury new inches, stretching Isaiah wider around him; Isaiah can feel the pressure radiating up his spine to spark at the back of his thoughts. His cock is _aching_ , pre dripping from the tip as it pulses with heat, and panic is trying to grip around him – slippery-like and confusing, blending with the swelling, sore heat, the incomprehensible reality that Benjamin is… is inside him. In his bedroom, in the middle of the night, and he can feel his _stepdad throbbing against his insides_ , dragging lube and what-else out to dribble down his taint and mumbling his delighted approval of Isaiah’s virgin ass, telling him to spread _just a little more_ , lift his hips _just a bit_ higher—oh, _that’s it, Isa, fuck, you’re so good to me._

Benjamin rewards him with a firm, smooth stroke to plunge deeper, and Isaiah pushes his face harder against the pillow as he bites it, desperate to muffle the moan surging past his lips. H-he’s already so deep, yet... yet every time Isaiah thinks it has to be over, his dad thrusts and _more_ inches of hard flesh are sinking in to push that bright, leaking cockhead even _deeper_ within him, rubbing places he never was aware of existing and sending overwhelmed jolts through his lower half. His thoughts are sent scattering, _dizzy_ and _dazed_ and _scared_ , wanting to refuse that this is really happening to him— but... he has no choice. Literally. He can _feel_ Benjamin gliding into his body as his hands grip at his hips tight, pulling Isaiah on his cock as much as he drives it into him. His legs are quivering, nearly buckling with each thrust as he fights to stay sane, to quench his trembling, to silence his voice as his own dad fucks him nice and slow.

Finally, finally, fabric touches him and another’s skin presses snug to his cheeks with a belly-deep groan rushing over him. Hands before holding are caressing, slipping around his body to splay open over his belly by under the t-shirt at the same time Isaiah can feel the hard panels of Benjamin’s abdomen and chest leaning against his back; the warmth of Benjamin spilling over him whole, encapsulated by the blanket falling at each side of Isaiah and shutting them in a bubble of shared body heat. “Shit, you’re so tight and warm…” His voice is a rough rasp, unsteady.

Isaiah’s hands at the sheets are tight, curled to shaking fists. “I…d-dad…” He manages, his voice so strained he can hear it breaking.

His thighs are nestled up between his and Isaiah can feel them flexing, can feel the wave of motion above him like a forewarning a moment before those hips roll, pushing a point-blank thrust that has Isaiah gasping a moan against the bed. It doesn’t stop and Isaiah’s heart pounds at his eardrums while he whimpers, while his face burns, with embers spreading down his neck to pool at his collarbones, utterly helpless to the feeling of motion where he never felt anything like it – to the slicked friction as Benjamin eases out… then pushes in again. His mouth falls open, silent, as he arches. The faint veins, the pulsating swells… he can feel it grinding against his rim, the slight curve rubbing the drooling head harder right under his spine… “God,” Benjamin breaths, and he’s moving, working a smooth pull to drag his quivering hole up that thick cock until the flared crown is teasing the inside of him – Isaiah takes a ragged inhale that spills out like a long whimper, swelling to a shaky moan as he sinks all the way back in again. “You feel _amazing_.”

Shoulders coiling tight full of quivers, Isaiah’s eyes are shut tight as he clutches the pillow against his flaming face, pillowcase damp between his teeth raw in his attempt to quiet down the breathless noises leaving him. The bed is starting to creak underneath them; a soft whine of springs and wood that mashes with the faint rustling of fabric as Benjamin’s hands slide down to grip his waist, thumbs pressing against the curve of his lower back while he rolls his hips forward and back, his breathing deep and intercut with soft groans. Toes taking turns curling and splaying open at the sheets, Isaiah whimpers and pants at the raw friction of his dad’s flesh dragging at him, texture and heat grinding across his walls – and it is still not… not _comfortable_. Pressure and presence strain his insides, presenting a solid resistance every time Isaiah tightens in reflex at the feeling of him sliding through him; making him feel the absence once he pulls back, like a hollowness imprinted right at his middle. It’s _too much_ , Isaiah thinks, _too much for him to process_. Nothing of this _makes any sense_. The relentless onslaught of sensation leaves him dizzy and overheated and shaky against the sheets, hips rocking weakly with Benjamin’s strokes and gradually building speed, steady in rhythm; but breathing is getting harder, wheezes for inhales that sound more like moans with every lungful Isaiah manages, for each drive of that cock inside seems to thrust the head right into the bottom of his lungs, shoving the air right out. His _dad’s_ cock.

His eyes burn and Isaiah feels like crying, like sobbing, thoughts devasted to stutters of rationality and understanding that barely wraps around the comprehension that _Benjamin is fucking him;_ that his stepdad _is inside him_ and claiming his body.

His—his first time.

Isaiah flush with shame and—something else. Something he dares not to think as denial clogs his throat, reminding him sharply his mother is just on the other side of the hallway. But doesn’t matter how desperately he tries to cling to this, he _can’t_. Benjamin’s sure grip slides smooth over Isaiah, gripping and kneading at his spread ass or slipping under his t-shirt, caressing his sweaty skin with moans of his pleasure, occasionally punctuated with a purred compliment or a hissed curse, as his hips force the texture of his lowered-just-enough pants into the boy’s cheeks with a smack and a grind and Isaiah’s focus scatters. His resolution _falters_. Still clothed balls slap atop his own as Benjamin murmurs right at his ear what a good boy he is, how good he feels around his cock, voice low and almost breathless yet tauntingly calm, contrasting to Isaiah’s cries of sweet anguish. It fills Isaiah’s head as his guts are bludgeoned by his terrible tool, ass sculpted into the shape of him and scraped clean of any obstacles or imperfections, and Isaiah’s face is wet with tears and drool as he bites the soft fabric of the pillow, doing his best to be quiet. His own shaft bounces in counter-point to his stepdad’s every relentless thrust, flickering a sticky mess into the mattress of ever-growing tension; a dull pressure knotting his stomach with heat and blurring his vision and stealing his air, the boy gasping and moaning with the smell of sweat and sex soaking the inside of his lungs until every breath stick; difficult. Isaiah’s fingers dig into the mattress, shaky arms straining to hold himself steady; to brace himself as Benjamin’s cock pressing far inside, filling him, and it hurts but it doesn’t and Isaiah is not sure what he’s feeling—

The world seems to flare to bright white on the next driving plunge home, snapping his flesh taut around more cock than Isaiah probably has any business taking with a resounding blow that has the boy lifting to his toes, knees leaving the bed – as Benjamin groans open-mouthed against Isaiah’s shoulder, mixing with his son’s own cry of submission. “ _Fuck_.” That fat cock throbs, swelling thicker than ever till Isaiah is sure he’ll split open, and hotness fills him in gushes. The boy shudders hard and the pressure inside him breaks _open_ – and his own orgasm rushes through him live a wave of white heat; tears fill his eyes as he spills his shameful pleasure over the sheets of the bed under him, and Isaiah is shaking, gasping tiny, broken noises into the pillow that sounds so much like sobs like he can’t find his breath. Benjamin is still grinding in, never drawing an inch but still rolling down and forward, arms winding around his middle keeping Isaiah still while his balls throbs against the boy’s cheeks; in sync with the spurts of liquid warmth inside him.

The flood turns to an ebbing tide, and the grip of pleasure eases around Isaiah who is left to pant noisily for air, heartbeat-like thunder and body trembling so much his legs threaten to give up. The awareness of the breathless quality of his stepdad's inhales comes slowly, as well as the lowering tension in Benjamin’s body on top of him as the older man gradually melts into the tremor of Isaiah’s receding orgasm; a mess slides down the leg of his boxers. Dampness seems to weld them together while the blanket traps body heat and steam and creates a furnace, as well as an isolating booth.

Isaiah feels a drop of sweat trickling down his flushed face.

Benjamin finally stirs from his panting reverie, and he turns to press his damp forehead against Isaiah’s temple. “Damn, boy.” A hoarse chuckle, the words pressed over his ear and coming hot against sweat-slick skin. “You really are a fine ride.”

Isaiah shivers. “D…dad…” he whimpers feebly.

Giving his stinging cheeks a warm squeeze, he slides his hands into a gentle rub over his sides as he catches his breath with a deep, satisfied sigh. Benjamin then leans away with the blanket and a sudden chill wash over his back, t-shirt stuck to his skin from sweat, and Isaiah’s entire body is utterly drained of any capacity to move, to do anything lay there as the man firms hold at his hips. Steadying Isaiah in place before he rolls back. Isaiah makes a helpless noise as he feels that cock stirring, and the draw back it's a long, arduous process all its own, friction sparkling through his abused walls and causing his body to tense reflexively; until he finally slips from Isaiah’s trembling grip and the strain eases into relief.

A pulsating ache is left, together with a feeling of emptiness.

All air leaves him in a shuddering exhale, while over him Benjamin sigh and lets go of him, bracing a hand against the bed before he falls to his back, taking most of the blanket with him. Isaiah’s legs collapse not long after, leaving him to fall onto his side. He blinks his vision back into focus with difficulty, and by the time he manages, his eyes are already somehow adjusted to the darkness; enough to distinguish Benjamin’s profile as the older man turns to him.

The reality of what they just did creeps like a chill into his still recovering heart, and he can only duck his head away from his stepdad’s attention and curl into himself. “I…” he tries; his voice catches, all shaky and rough.

His face burns with shame.

A hand comes out, fingers slipping to touch Isaiah’s shoulder, and it’s like an electric shock running through the whole of him. The boy shudders, biting his lips and closing his eyes as Benjamin’s hand trails up along the line of his neck, knuckles brushing the line of his jaw very gently… before settling at last under his chin. The shivers steal any strength to resist and his head is lifted, positioned over the pillow the way Benjamin wants, before the weight of his hand slides into Isaiah’s hair.

A sweet hum. “So pretty.”

Isaiah’s throat tightens, his breath turning very small and very shaky as his heart stutter. “D-dad, I… t-this…”

“It’s okay,” Benjamin says and then a broad hand is landing on the curve of Isaiah’s waist before slipping around him, tugging him closer, and the boy is helpless to do anything but fall into the other’s hold. His own hands come up to Benjamin’s stomach, gripping the damp fabric just as lips press to his. Lingering but gentle, Benjamin’s mouth as warm as the rest of him as he presses a soft kiss; contrasting to the aftermaths of his lust still clinging to Isaiah’s body. To the sharp impression of heat and volume still inside him, and the unsteadiness caused by his senses still holding to the rolling motion of those hips, rocking his body.

By the time they pull back to breathe, Isaiah feels wobbly. He has to blink hard, to fight vertigo to clear his vision.

Then Benjamin sighs a satisfied exhale, pressing a smile to the corner of Isaiah’s mouth, his words coming with a low purr. “We’re going to have a lot of fun from now on, kid.”

And Isaiah can’t do anything but quiver.

**Author's Note:**

> apparently, you can use olive oil as lube? according to google anyway. But always consult a doctor before trying anything!
> 
> ps: this might have a second chapter
> 
> Hey guys, feel free to visit me in my [tumblr](https://play-of-kids.tumblr.com)


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